The Painter
by Eykiel
Summary: A new hero has appeared, and he has a very strange habit... of painting. (Eun Wol/Eunwol, Freud. Oneshot.) Minor edit 28/4/14.


1/4/14 — Hello! Just a note before you begin reading.

Haunani pointed out that Eun got his powers _after_ he landed in the Fox Eared Village, not during the Heroes era. Thanks to my misunderstanding of the questline, I left out this detail when planning and writing the piece oTL

That being said, great thanks to Haunani for this little detail! This will just become an AU of sorts, should Eun get his powers _before_ he met the heroes.

Cheers :)

:

* * *

When Eun Wol turned up and asked to join the Heroes, Freud was pleasantly surprised. The raven haired mercenary didn't explain much for his motives and avoided most of their questions about his beginnings. He was soft spoken, his movements gentle, and he had kind soft eyes that bore no malice or any hint that he was a fighter. But there was a certain grace to the gestures of his hands, a quiet confidence in his gaze, and the strength of a strong and practiced warrior in his stance.

'What if he is a spy?' hissed Luminous, ice blue eyes narrowed and hostile, 'I have enough of wandering nomads sneaking into our midst and wrecking havoc.'

'Excuse you!' huffed Phantom. 'He's nowhere my amazing calibre.'

'Beyond that, I cannot trust someone who has virtually no name for himself.' Mercedes gave him one final look-over before turning away.

Aran remained silent, but her eyes were hard and cold like frostbite, a sure sign of her hostility.

Freud stepped forward. 'If you wish to join us, I expect some worthy contributions from you.'

'Freud! You cannot keep inviting any mongrel into our midst!'

'Come on, not this nonsense again. I've enough of thieves and liars.'

'At least I'm a _reputed _thief! You shut up!'

He and the raven haired mercenary ignored the other Heroes' protests. The mercenary's gaze roved once around the squabbling heroes behind Freud before settling on his, and then he nodded. 'I will prove my worth should you give me a chance.'

Freud held up a hand and the Heroes behind him fell silent. 'Eun Wol, is it? I have my reservations about you, as they do as well. You understand.'

'Yes.'

'We will be going for a mission in a few days. Perhaps it will be a test of your prowess and loyalty.'

'But nothing I do will prove my loyalty.' Eun Wol replied immediately. 'I was born and raised a mercenary. And by that alone, your comrades will never believe me.'

Freud didn't need glance behind to know that the others were averting their eyes, guilty of being called out like that. Eun Wol was an interesting character - fully aware of his identity, his capabilities and his limits. His flat, even voice betrayed no emotion at all, which hinted at years of self-control and acute awareness of body language, speech, and emotions.

Freud studied him carefully. He was slim, his slender figure almost effeminate, but no mercenary made a living without an able body and fearsome strength. Two eyes of misty purple, like a muted winter dusk, stared calmly at him, framed by cascading locks of spun charcoal that reached his waist. Compared to them, his clothes were almost crude, a simple tunic pulled over a simple shirt, cotton pants and a soft brown scarf around his neck.

Perfect clothes for blending in, thought Freud, but there was really nothing special that set him apart from the rest of the world. Eun Wol was painfully, and extraordinarily _ordinary_.

'I will be the judge of your loyalty, then.' Freud smiled, and extended his hand. Eun Wol did not take it.

'All I ask is a brush, paper, and paint,' he murmured.

Neither one of them missed the muted whisper of exasperation from behind.

'I will see what I have,' nodded Freud. 'Perhaps I can get a hold of some canvas for you, too.'

Eun Wol smiled then, for the first time. It was genuine. 'Thank you, Freud.'

'Thank me after the mission, Eun Wol.'

They shook hands, much to the chagrin of the rest, and Freud led him to a spare room. Freud pointed out the washroom, the way to the pantry, the library, the storage room for writing supplies, the training grounds, the conference room. Eun Wol followed behind him quietly, only talking when Freud asked him a question and it would be impolite not to answer. He couldn't shake away the nagging thought that Eun Wol was merely mapping out the guildhouse for an enemy's attack later on, but Freud thought that unlikely.

If Eun Wol had ulterior motives, he and Afrien would have sensed it. A spy in their midst would ask questions, not stay silent. And no spy worth his salt would march up to five of the world's strongest heroes, and ask to join their ranks, under the wing of the Empress. It would cause an outrage, not to mention give the entire legion an excuse to wipe them out with a blink of an eye. Moreover, this strange mercenary had asked for brush and paint, rather than pen and paper, which meant he was more likely to actually _paint_ rather than write a message. And if he were to use his artistic talent to replicate the floor plans, under the guise of being a Hero, it would be a waste to approach them in Orbis, when they were in Ereve just a few days ago.

Freud didn't stop talking, explaining the history of Orbis and the guildhouse as he extracted paint and brushes from the supply cabinet beside the study rooms. Eun Wol thanked him, then stayed quiet all the way back to their rooms. Freud turned to Eun Wol.

'Our rooms are just side by side, so feel free to come in if there is anything I can help you with, or anything you'd like to know.'

'Thank you.'

Their introduction earlier was going to be the longest sentence Eun Wol would ever utter to anyone. _I have too much information to work with_, thought Freud sarcastically.

'No problem,' he forced out a smile. 'What are you going to do now?'

Eun Wol held up the paper and brushes in his hands.

'I am going to paint.'

And paint he did. By the time Freud had organised his things and selected the book of his choosing (which apparently, to Luminous and Phantom, took forever and then some), Eun Wol had already laid the first few sheets of water over the paper and was starting to work with soft pastel colors.

'Mind if I join you?' Freud stood in the doorway, noting that Eun Wol hadn't shut the door, as if he had nothing to hide at all.

'Not at all.' Eun Wol looked up. His eyes travelled to the book in his hands. 'Do you need the desk?'

Freud strode in and settled in another chair beside the desk. 'No. I'm just reading. Luminous found this new book today and I'd like to give it a once-over before I analyse it.'

Eun Wol nodded and picked up his brush again. 'I see. Sorry, I can't help you there.'

'Don't worry. You just do your thing. Take it as a surveillance period,' smiled Freud, crossing his legs and splaying the book open. 'Pretend I'm not here.'

The man nodded and quietly turned back to his painting. Minutes ticked by. Freud caught himself staring enraptured in Eun Wol's direction, still only at the first few pages of his book when he was supposed to have finished the first chapter. With a slight sigh and the knowledge he wasn't going to get any work done while Eun Wol was working, he rested his hand across the pages and let himself watch.

Eun Wol was as immersed in his painting as Freud was in his reading (except now Freud was horribly distracted). The man moved confidently, making good use of his two brushes, using one to blend colors quickly on his makeshift palette (a plate he had taken from the nightstand) and using the other to dab at the hues he needed before applying it to the paper.

His brush moved in loose strokes at first, laying down the impressions of buildings, little houses and orange roofs, rolling plains of grass, white clouds in a blue sky. Then he began to add tone to it, dropping shadows behind buildings, specks in the dirt pathway, blades of grass, fibres in the thatched rooftops.

To Freud's surprise, Eun Wol picked up his second brush with his other hand, dipped it in water and began to blend the colors together.

He was ambidextrous. Freud felt his cheeks twitch in an envious smile, watching Eun Wol bring his two brushes from one point of the paper to the other, alternating from one brush to the other as he worked at the colors with impeccable control. Freud would give anything to be able to write with his left hand — it'd make for far easier studying and an arm that could still function fine in the morning after a hard night of research.

He decided to keep his comments to himself lest he startle the quiet Eun Wol from his trance. Freud himself would have appreciated silence in his shoes. Instead he marvelled at the swift dabs of color, highlights mixed with darker shades, the humble brush working a different kind of magic in Eun Wol's skill to bring forth a three dimensional world.

It was the town of Henesys, drawn from a perspective he might never get to see — from the gaze of someone standing on the rooftops and looking down at the friendly farmers and cheerful townsfolk mulling about in a market square. Bathed in the brilliant hues of golden sunlight, life went on happily and without a care under a breathtaking expanse of azure pinned to the heavens by fluffy, low-lying clouds. Birds tilted their beaks to the skies in silent, frozen melodies, fluttering about windowsills and safely out of reach of a cat who couldn't care less as it dozed in the warmth of the midday sun. Children played tag around the knees and baskets of their mothers, one young girl with a chubby, giggling toddler strapped to her back.

Eun Wol exhaled and washed his brushes before picking at the hairs, flattening one out and twirling the other into a point, then he dipped both in color and began again. Freud watched in amazement as he worked, catching the sheen of sunlight across thin fibres of hair, jolly smiles as friends greeted each other with waves, the little patterns on cotton smocks or silk clothes and patches on the children's knees where their pants had torn and had to be mended.

Freud admired the man's dedication to his craft, his keen eye for details, the effort he put into every speck of paint. The buildings grew worn with age, bleached by the sun and cracked where the toll of wind and rain had weakened them. The grasses grew thicker, richer, wildflowers peeking out like gems between the blades, and the trees grew older, their trunks rough and wrinkled and carved on by playful teenagers and was that a squirrel too, clambering up the bark? Mothers laughed and grew crow's feet in the corner of their eyes, fathers grew callused hands and wiry moustaches and muscles that strained as they snatched their children up and tossed them in the air.

Eun Wol finally straightened, leaning back to look at the overall picture and how the elements worked together. Then he picked up the larger of the two brushes, dipped it in water, and smeared it over entire sections of the painting and Freud nearly let out a gasp of horror to see the fine details blurred out so ruthlessly.

But when the mercenary was done destroying the painting and had pulled the offending brush away, the painting was less a painting than a window to another world, for now there was distance and depth. The foreground was sharp, and so crisp that if Freud didn't know better, he'd expect the people there to start moving any time. He chuckled inwardly. So Eun Wol was willing to sacrifice his effort for the bigger picture, or if Freud really wanted to stretch it he might even say that Eun Wol was truly a selfless man.

It took a while more for Freud to realise that Eun Wol was staring at him quietly and staring, studying him.

'That's an amazing painting,' said Freud, and while there was no better word to use, it fell horrifically short of the spectacle he had just seen blossom in front of his very eyes.

He expected something more than the quick nod that Eun Wol gave in reply. 'Thank you.'

'You're ambidextrous?'

He nodded again. 'In case one gets sprained.'

'That's a very convenient decision.' What determination and patience it must have taken him to perfect the skill of using his non-dominant hand effectively, let alone painting with it. He closed his book as Eun Wol got up and placed his painting on the floor for it to dry.

'It's almost dinnertime. Would you care to join us?'

Eun Wol looked up. 'Me?'

'Yes, Eun Wol.' Freud laughed. 'There isn't anyone else here to invite to dinner.'

The mercenary (artist?) hesitated a while before nodding. 'If it isn't trouble.'

'Not at all.' Freud waved a hand. 'If you weren't planning to eat with us, what were you going to do?'

'Paint,' replied Eun Wol immediately.

Freud chuckled. Workaholic to hobbyist, this was one person he could definitely relate to.

But it was also important for Eun Wol to join the other Heroes, as a sign of trust.

'As much as I would like to let you stay here, we should go down for dinner,' smiled Freud, 'The others will probably be waiting.'

Eun Wol gave another longing glance at the empty paper on his desk, at the brushes, and at the palette. 'Alright. Give me one minute.' He quickly rinsed the palette and brushes clean and wiped them as dry as he could. Freud watched him, noting his discipline and the way he cared for things that weren't his even though he could've just left them to dry and spoil.

Freud led the way down to the dining room. It was time for another test. He would probe, very gently, about the setting of the painting, and give Eun Wol room to lie his way out. 'Henesys?'

'Yeah.'

'On an errand?'

Eun Wol hesitated. Freud glanced at him. He was sure the mercenary was considering whether to let him know the truth — revealing any information at all about his past missions could compromise him and his safety, as well as his reputation.

'Not exactly,' said Eun Wol.

Freud waited, wondering what lie the mercenary would choose to use.

'Well,' Eun Wol tilted his head so he could hide his eyes in his hair. 'The painting isn't all a memory… It's more of a dream.'

A dream?

Freud blinked in surprise. This was one answer he didn't expect. A dream? A figment of his imagination? A scene he saw in his mind while he slept? Just what did he mean? He would have given it more thought and pressed for more information but Mercedes joined them at the bottom of the stairway landing and began to grill Eun Wol for information.

Listening to Eun Wol's curt and barely-satisfying answers, and Mercedes's frustrated interjections, Freud couldn't help his amusement.

There was surely more to this silent man than he gave credit for.

Over a tense but respectful dinner, they learned a little more about Eun Wol. The Heroes interrogated him mercilessly, so the man relented and spoke briefly of a few of his 'errands'. Freud listened carefully, noting more of Eun Wol's meticulousness, his unbending perseverance and quiet determination, his loyalty to stay confidential to those who hired his skill.

Before long the soft-spoken but sincere mercenary had managed to strike up a heated conversation about picking locks with Phantom, had shocked Mercedes with the snottiness of human elites, had made Luminous reconsider the uprightness of the government, and had actually made Aran laugh when he told them about the time he willingly walked into a swindler's trap so he could steal all the man's weapons and gold.

With Phantom contemplating new thieving techniques, Mercedes grumbling with disgust under her breath, Luminous stunned into silence with the new information, and Aran chuckling quietly to herself, Freud and Eun Wol shared a glance and a smile.

Eun Wol was slowly but surely winning them over.

The next two days passed by quickly. When Freud worked late into the night and passed by Eun Wol's room, he'd see the man sitting in bed with his back against the wall, eyes closed and dozing. Sleeping just like a mercenary, not lying down in case someone burst into his room in his sleep, with one ear pricked for noise. The first night, Eun Wol had been awoken by Freud's footsteps as he passed, and Freud had to smile sheepishly as Eun Wol narrowed his eyes at how late it had already been. The next night, the mercenary didn't open his eyes when Freud walked down for his midnight dose of caffeine, though Freud was sure he had been awoken just like the night before.

Those two nights, Eun Wol left the door wide open, the greatest display of trust a mercenary could ever manage.

He was never late for meals either. He told stories when asked for one and laughed quietly to jokes, but still he stayed respectfully on the sidelines rather than forcibly insert himself into the Heroes' bickering and conversation. He would volunteer to do the washing up and make Mercedes chide Phantom for trying to skive his chores 'and even this nobody of a newcomer has more to offer than the world's best master thief'. He helped with the cooking but held his tongue and watched with silent horror as Aran and Mercedes added more sugar into a pot of soup than was absolutely healthy.

Freud, like Phantom and Luminous, knew his pain too well.

He watched Eun Wol discuss the meaning of light and darkness with Luminous. Freud was surprised at the insight in his words — unlike Phantom, who had a self-righteous view of the underbelly of the world, Eun Wol had a certain resigned understanding that human society needed the weak to support the strong, and it would never change. The idea was scoffed at by the Master Thief, and intriguing to Luminous, but it was undeniably a result of the way he justified his work to himself.

Bitter as his thoughts were were, Eun Wol was a new perspective that the band of five Heroes could benefit from. His comments, sharp as they might be, always sparked a second thought and made the lot of them rethink their perspectives on an issue (Freud included, no matter how unwillingly he might admit it). And to be honest, Freud enjoyed listening and learning about his ways.

Everyone grew fond of him. He was there as Aran and Mercedes's guinea pig, a position that Phantom was all too happy to relinquish, when they had some amazing new edible innovation (read: a gut-churning lovechild between two of the world's least compatible foods). Freud was there to comfort him and give him stomach medicines that night.

Eun Wol found himself the mediator between Phantom and Luminous's skirmishes, a position that Freud was all too grateful to share. The thief and light mage often went at it tooth and nail, wherever they might be at the point of time, no matter how inappropriate. Freud would grab Luminous's arms while Eun Wol wrestled with Phantom from behind (while Aran and Mercedes made cutting remarks on the sidelines aimed at whoever they decided to side against).

And after all of the day's stress and strung nerves, Eun Wol gave Freud solace. Eun Wol acceptedFreud, and acted with such quiet ease around him that made Freud feel like they'd known each other for years — but it had only been two days, at most. They talked late into the night, of anything and everything, if there were words to be said; or read and painted in amicable silence. Sometimes they admired the scenery together, or played chess (Eun Wol was a willing opponent but Freud wasn't going to give up his title of chessmaster that easily). Eun Wol was a breath of fresh air and Freud relished his company.

But the one thing that really got on everyone's nerves was that Eun Wol never joined them to train. The two training sessions they had, the Five would gather and spar. They would test out new strategies, critique the skills and techniques, and push themselves to new limits each day. And these days, they would look at Freud and ask, 'Where's your quiet friend?' He knew they asked because it was more an implicit statement: 'Why isn't your "friend" putting his strength to the grind like the rest of us?' or maybe 'Does your "friend" think he's better than us?' or maybe even 'Is this the kind of person you'd allow into our ranks?'

But everyone knew why. They would return from their training, tired and aching, and Eun Wol would be playing with paints in the comfort of his room.

Freud didn't have an answer. The only thing he knew was that Eun Wol never seemed to stop painting. Scenes of emerald blades overlain by sapphire blue skies with towering trees and people dotting the grass, scenes of proud cities of stone and marble that reached confidently into the heavens and manned by cheerful townsfolk, scenes of families and friends strolling around the docks where ships of all colors rode calm and open oceans.

So if Eun Wol was truly as dedicated as he said he was… then what was he doing? Painting wasn't going to solve anything that the Black Mage did. Freud racked his brains for even the littlest excuses for it, but it was a strange contradiction because a man so fiercely determined and confident of his fighting skills should not, would not spend his time _painting_.

This silent man was intriguing, Freud couldn't read him at all. He was so unlike Luminous, who was generous with cutting remarks and sarcasm. He was unlike Phantom, who clearly had a wound he wanted to heal. He was unlike Mercedes, who was predictable, in the sense that she was guided by strict moral codes fit for a queen. He was unlike Aran, though she was even more tight-lipped than he was, because Aran and her thirst for vengeance was understandable.

Eun Wol was not.

And it was driving Freud insane.

How he hated being unable to understand this new raven-haired mercenary. His excuse to knowing him better was that he needed to back up his decision as to why he allowed Eun Wol into their ranks… but to no avail anyway. Eun Wol was the dark side of the moon, hidden by the stoic side that he chose to show.

Freud contemplated asking Eun Wol directly, but no good ever came out of confrontation. Eun Wol so reminded him of a fox, cautious, always on edge, always ready to flee at the slightest hint of danger. Sure, the mercenary might want to stay, but Freud knew better than to take it for granted. Not just anybody marched themselves up for scrutiny from the guardians of the world and offered to sell their soul for a cause that they might never return from. So Freud would have to bide his time, have faith, and wait. That was what he learned with Phantom, and that would be what Eun Wol would teach him, all over again.

So with more than slight frustration and exasperation, he could only watch Eun wol paint and paint and fill the room with happy, cheerful drawings, drawings that meant nothing in the face of a great danger, until the day of their mission arrived.

He led the Heroes down Orbis Tower and into the icy fields of El Nath, where reports of strange beings, monk robes and twisted metal armours without bodies floated, corrupting the lifeforce of the area. It wasn't difficult to miss. The Heroes scouted the area before regrouping at the tip of a high cliff overlooking the icy plain.

But before anyone could suggest plans, Eun Wol raised his hand.

'Let me,' he said simply.

Everyone stared at him incredulously. It was clear, the amazement and shock and horror and surprise that everyone felt. Here was this strange new mercenary, slender and thin who chose to spend his time painting rather than training _with five of the world's best Heroes_ and here he was, volunteering to destroy hundreds of evil creatures on his own without assistance.

'We're not going to save your sorry hide if you get mauled down there,' huffed Phantom.

For once, even Phantom's confidence had been outshone.

'You'll die,' gasped Mercedes plainly.

Luminous and Aran didn't even bother protesting.

Freud blinked as the mercenary shrugged and began to undress. 'Eun Wol… at least tell me your plan for attack.'

'I don't have one.' Eun Wol shrugged out of his overshirt and pulled a small package of cloth from a hidden pocket, shaking it out.

'Then what are you doing? We don't even join any battle without an attack plan.'

'And a contingency plan, because Luminous is stuffy about that,' hissed Phantom, scowling and studying these new clothes that Eun Wol was slipping on.

The raven-haired man shrugged. 'I've never needed an attack plan. I see it in my mind once I'm doing it.'

Freud watched in exasperation as Eun Wol slipped into a leather vest, a thin black cotton robe, and slid on a sturdy leather knuckle tipped with jade that looked far too expensive for an ordinary mercenary to own. 'Eun Wol, we can't be responsible for your injuries or death—'

'You don't have to be,' Eun Wol cut in.

Freud blinked. It was the first time this quiet, reserved man interrupted any of them.

Pulling a crimson silk ribbon around his waist and tying it off, Eun Wol turned to them and quietly said, 'I assure you, no harm will become of me.'

He smiled quietly, a slight but definite tilt of his lips that was not unkind.

Blue light engulfed him, and then he was gone.

Surely he couldn't have… Freud ran to the edge of the cliff, looking down with wide eyes as Eun Wol's silhouette materialised in the midst of the spectres. A united howl rose up from below, groans from the metal armor as they clanked into life, and shrieks of twisted incantations floating up from the monks as their masks shone with wicked energies.

Then what was initially panic and shock faded away to awe.

Eun Wol was a slim, slender figure that seemed to float across the ice. He moved almost recklessly, covering inhuman speeds with graceful strides and sidesteps between the behemoths of floating cloth and iron towering over him. His frame moved in an otherworldly yet enrapturing _danse macabre_, his hands channeling energy seemingly out of nowhere, materialising in flashes of color and light around him. He was twirling, pirouetting with his hands leading the way, the polished jade knuckle and its shiny metal teeth gleaming brightly in the sunlight to mark the steps of his dance.

He ducked under the monks, filling them with bright bursts of cyan before they fell to the ground in a heap, leaving their robes lying limp across the white snow and then he was sliding his fist between the weak points of a set of armor towering above him, purple sickles of energy stabbing out of the metal from all directions and leaving the smithereens scattered across the plain.

His hair flowed out with his momentum, never getting in the way of his vision, the tail end of his dance marked temporarily by the blood red ribbon, which he used to confuse enemies temporarily while his knuckle sought purchase in their weak points.

On and on he bounded, fought, danced — until one thing finally became clear:

Eun Wol was painting.

He was the brush, sliding confidently across the snowy canvas in looping strokes, leaving smudges of color across the snow wherever he landed. He led the spectres across the snow in an elaborate choreography, too complex to be predicted, even for Freud — Mercedes let out a low whistle as every attack from the monks seared into naught but snow, and the heavy fists of the suits of armor were lured into destroying their own kind by the light, teasing steps of the master painter.

Freud saw admirable poise in his steps, the way his weight never shifted too much on either foot, and then realised what Eun Wol had meant. He was ambidextrous, using both hands in battle, to help the colored spirits of moose and fox and monkey flow along with his center of gravity, guided by his momentum, and he launched bursts of color out from either hand freely, making his plan of attack unpredictable. With his style of battle, as well as his art — he _had_ to be. His knuckle did not even so much as graze a single suit of armor, or did he need to block a single attack from any spectre, he was too fast and too deadly for them to even see it coming.

Monk after monk, armor after armor fell… and soon the snow was littered with their remains. Eun Wol slid to a halt in the middle of the snowfield — his canvas — the same spot where he had begun. Freud let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and forced himself to take a mental step backwards, to take in the details.

In a twisted display of his abilities, Eun Wol had actually painted something else. Even in the heat of the battle that felt more like a performance than a fight, he had kicked and strewn the spectres' remains of red, blue, green robes, grey iron and blackened steel into a particular arrangement. It was a perfect circle, divided into five teardrop sections, each with an orb of another color right in its center. Freud recognised the homage to the traditional _yin-yang_ icon that they used in the oriental cultures, symbolising perfect balance — this time with five colors. And in the tiny star shape that remained at the center, where no teardrop overlapped, stood the artist, who was staring up at them and waving.

Freud shook his head, smiling. Everyone clambered on Afrien in mute amazement and Afrien swooped down low enough so Eun Wol could teleport onto his back without having to disturb the snow any further.

'Do I pass?' asked Eun Wol, once they had reached home and had some time alone. The Heroes all sung a different tune now that they had witnessed his abilities firsthand, and had urged Freud to accept him as quickly as he could.

But he had one more question.

Freud studied the mercenary, who looked every bit ready to paint any battlefield with the colors of victory, and contemplated.

'Why do you paint?'

Eun Wol blinked, surprised by the question.

'Other than that painting in the snow, I must know why you paint what you paint.'

Freud was satisfied that Eun Wol couldn't hold his now-stern gaze.

'I like to see people happy,' he murmured quietly, 'I never took jobs to kill people… only to rid of pests or monsters or demons…'

Eun Wol trailed off into silence.

Freud tilted his head. So words had never been his forte.

'Can I offer my explanation?'

The mercenary nodded and looked up, beseeching and sincere.

'You paint because it's what you see in your mind's eye. People happy, safe, content. It's how you remind yourself what you're fighting for — you're painting your dream of a better world.'

Those twilight eyes widened.

'You paint because the Black Mage is taking that all away, and soon the world mightn't remember anything happy any more. So you're trying to immortalize that in your paintings, a time when hope was still real.'

Freud smiled then, and extended his hand.

'Please. Paint for us.'

Eun Wol blinked and looked down at Freud's gloved hand, before meeting his gaze with open gratitude shining in those usually-emotionless depths.

'I will,' he replied, taking Freud's hand and squeezing it tightly. 'It is an honor.'

'Then welcome, Eun Wol, to the Heroes.'

'Thank you,' muttered Eun Wol, smiling sheepishly. 'I would love to talk, but I must practice.'

Practice?

Eun Wol's battles were his canvases, and his paintings his wars.

Freud's eyes softened. Standing before him was a selfless man indeed.

'You know where to get the paint and brushes. Tomorrow I will obtain a proper paint set for you.'

Eun Wol nodded, expression one of grim and fierce determination.

Freud thought he looked a perfect Hero, then.

'With your help, I will paint a masterpiece that is as stunning as it is unforgettable.'

* * *

**A/N:**

NEW HERO. He looks gorgeous.

Just a fic to keep all the headcanons of Eun Wol being a graceful fighter. Come on, the sprites for his skills look like they're dancing and I absolutely love them.

And Eun with his hair looks kind of like a paintbrush too!

I've never played EW so I don't know why he joined the heroes or how, sources don't really say much about it. So here it is! Feel free to point out any inaccuracies, I'll be glad to keep this as canon as possible!

EDIT 28/4/14 — edited the details and made the flow slightly better.


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